


Every Friday like Clockwork

by clawstoagunfight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Laundromat, Laundry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1300498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clawstoagunfight/pseuds/clawstoagunfight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles sees something bright red and looks up just in time to see Sexy McStubbly adding a racy lace bra into the wash. </p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Of course he’s not just some hot, single dude that always comes alone to the laundromat late at night. Of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Friday like Clockwork

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt from [deucalionfireofmyloins](http://deucalionfireofmyloins.tumblr.com/): “Give me a fic where Stiles works a night shift at a 24 hour laundromat and Derek comes in every Friday night at 11pm.”
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [thewolfthatwrites](http://thewolfthatwrites.tumblr.com/).
> 
>  
> 
> *this is rated G, but there are some swear words, so if anyone wants me to change this to T, just let me know.

It’s 11:06 PM when Sexy McStubbly comes into the laundromat on Fourth carrying a basket full of dirty clothes. Stiles is in the middle of collecting coins from one of the washers, rubbing his bleary eyes and wondering why he ever thought working weekend graveyard shifts for a 24-hour laundromat would be a good idea. Stiles has got a bag full of coins and is adding more from the washer in front of him when the guy walks around to one of the washers in the row opposite him, down at the end. Stiles covertly watches Sexy McStubbly put the bottle of detergent resting on top of his clothes on the washer next to him and then lift the lid to his own to start adding his clothes. They are the only two right now in _Bobby’s Bubbles_ , the laundromat that Stiles works at and Stiles is glad.

This isn’t the first time Stiles has seen him around. In fact, Sexy McStubbly has come every Friday night for the last three weeks around 11 like clockwork. Stiles has definitely noticed the other man—but, really, how could anyone _miss_ him. He’s got dark stubble over his cheeks and down to his neck, perfect cheekbones that look sharp enough to cut glass, and the most terrifying set of eyebrows atop the prettiest hazel eyes Stiles has ever had the pleasure of being glared at by.

He’s unfairly attractive and almost as unfairly standoffish. The only time the guy had ever said anything to Stiles was the last time he was in here, when he’d asked Stiles for change for a dollar because he needed another quarter and he’d frowned so hard at Stiles the entire time that Stiles dropped the bag of coins he was holding at the time and coins rolled all over the floor. Then, to Stiles’ mortification, Sexy McStubbly had helped Stiles pick them all up, rolling his eyes when he finally handed the money back to Stiles, keeping two quarters for himself. It wasn’t until the guy left that Stiles noticed the single dollar thrown in with the change.

That was last week, and Stiles is not looking forward to having to face Mr. Hot-And-Brooding tonight. Stiles had woken up ass early to get a paper done before his afternoon seminar. He’d fully intended on grabbing some food and a small nap after his class ended, but then Scott had called and asked him to drop off  a textbook he forgot that he needed for his class and then he’d run into Boyd, so he’d stayed and chatted for a while with him. So, before Stiles knew it, it was a half hour before his shift started and he needed to go home and change into his staff shirt—resulting in him forgetting to grab something to eat along with skipping dinner.

So, not only is Stiles so tired he feels like he could fall over at any moment, but his stomach is growling audibly. On top of that, Sexy McStubbly is there and Stiles is sure that he’s going to find some way to embarrass himself before the guy leaves. Stiles just can’t help watching the guy from the corner of his eye, even as he moves on to collecting coins from the next machine. He sees something bright red and looks up just in time to see Sexy McStubbly adding a racy lace bra into the wash.

Stiles mentally curses himself. _Of course_ the guy has a girlfriend. _Of course_ he’s not just some hot, single dude that always comes alone to the laundromat late at night. _Of course._ He probably comes here every Friday to do his and his girlfriends laundry so that she can wake up Saturday morning and thank him for being so sweet and considerate and then they’ll spend the morning in bed together.

Stiles should really know better than to get a crush on a guy that is a) so out of his league, b) _hot as the fucking sun_ , and c) obviously thinks he is incompetent at his job. Which— _rude_. Stiles is the best employee this place has. He’s the only one that actually checks the lint traps on the dryers, mops the floors, and makes small repairs to the machines. He is invaluable, okay.

Stiles gets a little too lost in his thoughts, because the next thing he knows, Sexy McStubbly is looking at him with a scowl on his face, putting the bra into the wash. Stiles flushes and looks away, going back to the machine in front of him.

Stiles finishes with the coins and goes into the back room to lock the change away in the safe before he grabs the mop. Fridays are a high traffic day for some reason and the floor is always full of dirty shoe tracks and spilled detergent. He starts mopping at the corner furthest from Sexy McStubbly, not wanting to annoy him any more than Stiles is sure he already has.

The guy puts his money in the machine and it sets to wash before taking his basket over to one of the tables and sitting down. The guy pulls out a small book from his jacket pocket and cracks it open, stretching the spine before he settles down to read.

This is new. Normally, the guy would leave and come back five minutes before his clothes got done so he could switch them. Stiles always thought that because Stiles is generally the only one there the same time the guy came in to do his laundry that the guy felt comfortable enough making sure nothing would happen to his clothes with a _Bobby’s Bubbles_ employee there. But maybe since Stiles made such a fool of himself last time, Sexy McStubbly decided Stiles is no longer trusted to watch his clothes for him. Stiles can’t really blame him for thinking it.

He shrugs it off and keeps mopping, moving further toward the other man. He’s working at a particularly stubborn sticky mess near Sexy McStubbly’s table when someone else comes in. Stiles looks up and does a double take when he sees that the woman isn’t carrying a basket with her. In fact, she turns in his direction and sends a glare his way before she starts stalking over. Stiles takes a step back, wondering what he did—and hoping that she isn’t some angry customer upset about the vending machine eating her money—because that will be the third time _this week_ and he really is too tired for that shit tonight—when she surprises Stiles by stopping right next to Sexy McStubbly and looming over him.

“Derek,” she barks out, crossing her arms over her chest when he snaps his head up from his book.

“Cora? What are you doing here?’

The woman just huffs out a sigh at him. “ _Please_ tell me you put the wash on delicate.” Hot-And-Brooding looks back to the washer and flushes a little. The woman—Cora—groans and throws her hands up. “Seriously, Derek, I can’t keep affording to replace all of my bras because you don’t know how to wash something that isn’t denim or cotton! I _need_ that bra tomorrow, okay. I have a date with Allison, remember? Ugh, you are the worst brother _ever_.”

Cora slumps down into the chair across from Sexy McStubbly— _Derek_ —and the guy looks like he’s about to have an aneurism. Cora lets out a long sigh. “How much longer until I can see the damage so I know if I need to wake up early and go to the mall tomorrow.”

Sexy Mc—Derek looks uncomfortable, but places his book face-down on the table to pull out his cell phone anyway. “Ten minutes,” he says.

She throws her head back, but then her eye catches Stiles and she narrows her eyes at him. He’s suddenly aware that he’s paused halfway through mopping up the spill and has been eavesdropping on their conversation. He moves his eyes away, feeling his face flame as he removes the rest of the sticky blue substance from the floor.

_His sister_. It makes something in Stiles gut ease to know that Sexy McStubbly—who does _not_ look like a Derek, by the way—is here washing—and probably ruining—his sister’s laundry with his own. He bites his lip as he makes quick work of finishing the rest of the floor before he puts the mop back in the utility room. He thinks about trying to sneak a snack from the vending machine, but it really has been eating money, and Stiles can’t afford to pay for food he won’t even be able to eat.

Instead, he grabs some dust pads and heads out to dust the washers. Derek is standing next to Cora, who is busy pulling out all of the clothes from the washer, placing them in one of the carts, obviously looking for her articles of clothing to see what the damage is.

Stiles averts his eyes, not wanting to be glared at by either of the siblings, and starts to dust the tops of the washers, collecting the light film of dust settling there.

He hears, “You’re lucky. This is my favorite bra. I might’ve had to kill you. Next time, don’t grab my laundry just because you don’t have enough dirties and insist on coming here every Friday like the loser you are. You’re not doing me a favor.”

Stiles looks up in time to see the woman stuff her wet bra into a bag before heading for the door. “Aren’t you gonna dry that?” Derek asks his sister. Stiles’ thoughts echo the question.

She spins around and places her hands on her hips. “Derek, you don’t _dry_ these kinds of bras! It breaks down the wire. God, don’t you know anything?” And then she’s out the door, leaving Stiles along with Mr. Hot-And-Brooding once again. Derek huffs and turns back to his clothes, but he catches Stiles looking at him again when he starts to roll the cart to the dryers. Stiles looks away, but not before he catches the flash of color on the man’s cheeks.

Stiles keeps working while Derek puts his laundry in the dryer. He moves on to cleaning the tables and the vending machines after he dusts. Derek stands up when Stiles gets near his table, going over to check his clothes, probably to see how much longer they’ll be so he can get out of the laundromat. He probably thinks Stiles is some annoying kid who always sticks his nose in other people’s business. He grimaces at the thought, doing a quick wipe of the table Derek’s been sitting at anyway. Just because the guy thinks less of him doesn’t mean that Stiles is going to _not_ clean the table for him.

The dryer dings before long. Stiles can’t help but throw a glance to the other end of the building, watching as Derek bends over, all but sticking his head into the opening of the dryer, reaching for something. Stiles definitely does not admire the curves of Sexy’s ass or the way his hips sway just a little when he places the dry clothes into his basket.

Derek puts his laundry detergent back on top of his clean clothes, lifting the basket. Stiles doesn’t think about it; he makes his way toward the door, meeting Derek there, pulling it open for the other man to walk through. Stiles tells himself it’s because Derek’s got his hands full, or maybe it’s an apology for overhearing him and his sister’s private conversation, or—more likely—it’s just an excuse to see Derek up close one more time. Stiles has a sinking feeling that Derek won’t be coming back next Friday at 11, for some reason. It shouldn’t make him feel as dejected by the prospect as he does, but he just nods and offers a small smile at the man when he walks by, but it’s ruined by his stomach growling loudly.

The man slows in front of him, giving Stiles a long look. Stiles knows he’s blushing and he hates it, but he refuses to duck his head. Instead, he offers a sheepish shrug of his shoulder. The other man nods almost imperceptibly back at Stiles before heading out of the laundromat and back to his car.

Stiles lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding when the man leaves and he finds himself alone in the laundromat once again. It’s par for the course this late on a—now, Saturday morning. Generally, if people are out this late, doing laundry is the last thing on their minds.

Stiles doesn’t mind the quiet, though. He grabs his school bag from the back room and goes to one of the tables, sitting down at it. He pulls out a few books and some paper. He’s got the free time, having already worked through the list of things to do that his boss left for him, so he might as well try to get some school work done now, since he’ll probably sleep most of the day away when he finally goes home.

He’s got a highlighter cap between his teeth, hunched over one of his books, marking pages with pen and brightly colored markers, making notes on a separate sheet of paper, engrossed in his work, lost in the pages of the book, when a hand snakes into the corner of his vision, placing something on the table just on the other side of his small stack of books.

Stiles looks up to see a small bag, then trails his eyes higher to the body the arm still clutching the bag is attached to. He’s not expecting to see Derek standing there, looking down at him with an intense expression that looks like purpose—of what for, Stiles has no idea. He blinks at the other man, getting lost momentarily in the way his face looks from this angle, in the angle of his jaw, the brightness of his eyes—and then he remembers that he works here, and that he’s doing something that is actually against company policy.

He lets the highlighter cap fall from his mouth and stands up so fast he almost knocks the chair he’s been sitting in over. He slams his book closed and tries to gather all of his things into a pile, but only succeeds in knocking some of his pens to the floor. “Um, sorry, I—” Stiles is flustered, has to stop himself from bending down to crawl under the table for his writing utensils, “Sorry, did you forget something? Was there a problem with one of the machines?”

Stiles doesn’t know how close he actually is to Derek until he turns around—and then promptly realizes he is really intruding on the other guy’s personal space. Stiles flushes and takes a small step backward, feeling his heart hammering away in his chest.

Derek raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” His words are almost without inflection and Stiles frowns.

“No, ah—it’s cool. I, um, should have been paying more attention. Sorry, again. What—what can I help you with?”

Derek takes a step closer and Stiles swallows hard. “Open the bag, Stiles.” This close, Stiles is so distracted by the guy’s face that it takes a little too long for the words to sink in. When they do, Stiles is bringing his hands up—in something that is totally _not_ flailing, because Stiles doesn’t _flail_ , okay—and looking at Derek like he’s never really seen him before.

“Whoa, okay, buddy, how do you know my name? Because I would remember if I told you and I—” But he gets distracted by the hand Derek is reaching out toward him with. He can’t help but watch as it gets closer to his chest, until Derek uses a finger to press against—his name tag…with his name on it. “Oh,” Stiles says dumbly, too embarrassed by his outburst to say anything else.

Derek lets out a small huff, but when Stiles looks back to his face, he’s got his lips lifted in something like a smile. It’s disarmingly attractive and makes Stiles feel a little weak in the knees. “Just open the bag.”

Stiles does, feeling too mortified still to be properly suspicious. He opens the plastic bag, only to see an apple and what looks suspiciously like one of the amazing chicken salad sandwiches from the gas station on the next corner.

“Um,” Stiles said intelligently. “It’s food?” He doesn’t mean it to come out as a question—but why was Derek showing him a bag full of food? Was he going to eat it in front of Stiles because Derek heard his rumbling stomach? Was this his way of getting back at Stiles for what happened earlier?

“It is.” Stiles closes the bag and turns back to Derek, crossing his arms over his chest. Stiles frowns at Derek’s frown and it just makes Derek frown harder. “Well?” Derek asks, his tone a little grumpy.

Stiles draws his eyebrows together. “Well, what? It’s food.”

The other man’s lips press into a thin line before he speaks again. “Well, aren’t you gonna eat it?”

Stiles blinks owlishly at him for a long moment. “Wait. What? You—that food’s for— _you brought me food_?”

Derek looks a little sheepish and rocks on his heels, looking anywhere but at Stiles. “Yeah, well. You were hungry. I drove passed after I got gas and saw you sitting here reading, so I went back and—you know what, never mind. Sorry, this was stupid. I’m just gonna—” Derek points over his shoulder with his thumb and turns to leave, but Stiles snaps out of whatever reverie he was in.

“Wait!” Derek turns back slowly—and yep, that is definitely a blush on his cheeks. “It’s one in the morning. You brought me a sandwich at one in the morning because you heard my stomach growl?” Derek ducks his head in a telling gesture. “Why do you care?” Stiles voice is soft when he asks. He doesn’t know what’s happening right now. This is an unexpected turn of events and he doesn’t know how to proceed. Attractive men buying him midnight meals was not covered in the laundromat worker’s manual.

“I’ve just—noticed you, is all.” Derek clears his throat. “You’re hard to miss.”

Stiles feels himself flush. “Uh, I’m sorry about that. I tend to…get distracted a lot. I don’t mean to be so annoying. It just kind of happens.”

Derek’s eyebrows draw together in what looks like confusion. “What are you talking about?” His gruff voice sounds a little higher, like he’s genuinely asking.

“I, um—what are you talking about?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “You’re the only worker here that hasn’t tried to hit on me, or offered to help me with my laundry, of which I’m _perfectly capable of doing on my own_. And you’re the only one here that actually ever seems to do any work. It’s hard not to notice someone like that.”

Stiles stands there gaping at him for a moment, only aware that his mouth is hanging open when Derek’s eyes seems to lock onto it, and then he’s snapping his mouth closed, uttering another “Oh.” Stiles clears his throat. “Well, I’ve—ah—noticed you, too. In a good way. Not, like, in the I-think-you’re-an-incompetent-laundry-doer. Because I don’t. Just—for the record.”

The corner of Derek’s mouth twitches upward. “Yeah? That’s good to know. I thought I saw you _noticing_ my ass earlier.”

Stiles’ blush is back full force at having gotten caught checking out Derek’s ass when he was bent over. “Oh, well—I—it’s a very nice ass.”

It’s Derek’s turn to blush again. He lets out a strangled laugh. “Uh, thanks. Yours isn’t too bad either.”

“Oh my god, you’ve been checking me out? For how long? What?” Stiles throws his hands in the air, letting his head fall back to stare up at the ceiling for a second before he looks back to Derek, expectantly.

He has the grace to flush a little. “Well, you’re the reason that I’ve been coming in here every Friday for the last few weeks. I—I always hoped that you would say something to me, but you’re so irritatingly professional. And this week, I didn’t even have enough dirty clothes for a load, so I took some of my sister’s things to wash too, just so I could come in and see you.”

Stiles feels the crooked grin spreading across his face of its own volition, but doesn’t try to stop it. “Really? I don’t think I’ve ever been called irritatingly professional before.” He’s so happy that it’s wiped the tiredness from his body, but his stomach gives another unhappy groan.

Stiles looks back to the bag on the table and then looks to Derek. “Do you want to split the sandwich with me?”

Derek just looks at him for a long moment before another smile spreads across his face. “No, I’m good. I got it for you anyway. And besides, I should get going. Cora’s gonna be wondering where I am soon.”

Stiles nods in assent. “Okay, but next time, dinner’s on me.” Stiles bites his lip for a moment when Derek’s eyes go wide. “Like, say, tomorrow—ah, actually— _tonight—_ at eight? I can—I can call you?”

Derek give Stiles a long once over that makes Stiles flush before Derek is reaching into his pocket and handing his cell phone over for Stiles to put his number into.  “Yeah,” he says, smirking at Stiles in a way that makes his heart beat faster. “Yeah. I think I can live with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated! 
> 
> Also, come talk to me on [tumblr](http://clawstoagunfight.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
